


And I Can Hardly Bear It!

by thisiswhatthewatergaveme



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, M/M, Magic, Wish Fulfillment, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiswhatthewatergaveme/pseuds/thisiswhatthewatergaveme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony said, “For my first wish, find the Captain’s sweetheart and bring him back in one piece,” and Loki brought back Bucky.<br/>The bear.<br/>Little and fluffy and scowling and <i>he is going to kill Steve</i>. Maybe Tony first.<br/>Probably Tony first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Can Hardly Bear It!

**Author's Note:**

> For shirokou! I hope you had the absolute happiest of birthdays yesterday! 
> 
> This fic in particular has been a long time coming, I know you asked me for it ages ago but... better late than never? I hope you like it!

Loki blinks at them. Tony, slowly, as if it pains him, puts the staff down, and the handkerchief flutters out of his other hand as if in solidarity. Loki blinks a little more. Steve looks at Tony. He’s going to kill him.

 

“In my defense,” Tony starts, and stalls. He tries again. “I didn’t actually think.” He purses his lips.

 

“’Maybe,’” Steve says, throwing his words back at him, “’if I _rub it hard enough_ , Loki will appear.’ Those were _literally_ the words that _came out of your mouth_.”

 

“Aladdin,” Tony says weakly, like that’s supposed to make any sense. And his face starts doing something weird. When Steve realizes that that’s what he looks like when he’s trying not to _laugh_ , he turns away in disgust. And Tony doubles over, wheezing, his laugh too big to be contained in any actual noises, his shoulders shaking like a jackhammer.

 

Loki looks like he’s been dragged through ten different kinds of hell, but he’s here. Livid, tattered, and crazy-eyed, but here. Because Tony decided to rub the blue crystal in his staff. Because Tony is—because Tony’s—

 

Because Tony. Steve sighs.

 

“So is this how it works?” he asks, and hopes that as his mouth moves, he figures out how this works. “Someone works your staff over and you come?”

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Tony whimpers, and collapses to the floor in another fit.

Steve closes his eyes. Fair enough. That one was his fault.

“I _mean_ ,” he says hurriedly, “do you just… appear? When someone…?” He gestures at the staff, because life is hopeless and words are hard.

 

“My magic is bound to it.” Loki says hoarsely, glaring at him, which is entirely uncalled for. “Whosoever holds the staff holds a dictation over my will.”

 

“Guess you should’ve held onto that a little tighter, huh?” Tony says from the floor.

 

Steve picks the staff up from the table and hurls it at Tony, who catches it a centimeter from his nose, his eyes wide.

 

“You did this,” he says calmly, “so you can fix it.”

 

Tony’s answering grin is slow and deadly.

 

“Wait,” Steve says weakly. He knows that face well enough. He knows that—

 

“For my first wish, magical minion—bring back Cap’s sweetheart. Moody, murderous, metal arm, can’t miss him. In one piece. Please and thank you.”

 

He knows that _that face_ , when Tony makes it,means some kind of subordination.

 

“Tony, that isn’t fixing things. Loki—”

 

Steve turns to him, but Loki’s gone. In his place is a something a lot like regret and exasperation. It only takes a second for Steve to realize that both of those things are, in fact, himself.

 

“Any suggestion for wishes two and three?” Tony asks tentatively. Steve kicks him.

 

* * *

 

“This is him, is it not?” Loki asks coolly. His smile turned on Steve is incredibly sharp. Steve doesn’t—he doesn’t know what to say.

 

“Well, uh—this is a Bucky, um. A Bucky Bear, which is. Hm. Which is different.”

 

“Not quite the _person_ —note the use of the word person, and not, of example, _toy_ there—we were looking for,” Tony says, not as helpfully as he probably intends it to be.

 

Loki sniffs. “I fulfill my bargains, no matter how ill-cast. You requested James Buchanan Barnes. In one piece. I needed to transport him, and that _vexing_ arm kept getting in my way.”

 

The bear’s left arm is a few shades lighter than the rest of it, without any fur. The stitching of its mouth is a solemn black line.

 

“So this is—”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Loki says impatiently. Steve glares at him.

 

“So _this_ ,” He starts again, a little louder, “is the best you could do.”

 

“Careful, Captain,” Loki says, and his eyes glint something terrible. “Like this, he can be brought back to form. But a plush toy is so _very_ delicate.”

 

“Okay, bye,” Tony says quickly, but it’s too late. Loki sweeps the Bucky Bear off the table before they can stop him, and a wire from one of Tony’s bots is suddenly, spontaneously catching fire.

 

Tony shouts. Steve dives.

 

He catches the bear before the fire does, scraping his elbows along rough concrete in the process. And then both the fire and Loki are gone. Steve sags against the ground and swears a blue streak.

 

Bucky’s bead eyes are accusatory at best. Tony laughs and laughs and laughs.

 

* * *

 

Steve stares at the bear. The bear, for all that’s worth, stares back. Unsurprisingly, neither one blinks.

 

“You’re still here? Really?” Tony comes down the workshops stairs in a clatter of metal parts. The new boots he’s been testing fall off of him as he moves across the floor, gathered up by his bots and reassembled behind him. His voice says he’s hardly surprised to see Steve sitting at one of his tables, Bucky held in front of him, frowning at the toy.

 

“Steve, honestly. It’s a teddy bear. It’s not the most… ideal situation, I know, but until you let me summon him back here—”

 

“He’s already done enough damage, don’t you think?” Steve says tartly.

 

“He’s the _only one_ who can fix it. Unless you know another wizard. Tell me, Rogers, do you know another wizard? In the tri-state area, maybe? Have you tried the Yellow Pages?”

 

Steve gathers the teddy bear gently, one-handed, and leaves.

 

* * *

 

It turns out it’s a little weirder to stare too hard at a teddy bear in public. He takes it—him — with him to the park and perches on a bench, Bucky beside him. He fools himself into thinking that he can feel the bear’s irritation rolling out of it. The frown is starting to do odd, unpleasant things to his stomach. Assassin-caged-in-a-teddy-bear-who-probably-has-a-temper butterflies.

 

A child runs up with sticky fingers, its small eyes on Bucky’s furry form. Steve sweeps him up and onto his lap and glares at the three year old before he really thinks about what he’s doing. He sure as hell thinks about it when the tiny thing bursts into _honest to god tears_.

 

“Oh god,” he blurts out, because _screaming_ is happening, and _tears_ , and the parents are walking, quickly, towards them and Steve?

 

Steve _books_ it.

 

(He makes a game of visualizing the headlines—Captain America Terrorizes American Children. Avenger Turns Vengeful. Captain America’s Bizarre Teddy Bear Fetish—How To Protect Your Kids Today. It makes him run a little faster.)

 

* * *

 

“Call him,” Steve gasps, his hands on his knees, Bucky squished between them.

 

Tony raises a facemask and one carefully manicured eyebrow, switching off the torch in his hands.

 

“Parents,” Steve wheezes, and Tony accepts it.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony rubs the blue stone like he’ll polish Loki right out of it. Nothing happens.

 

* * *

 

Steve stares at the bear. The bear, for all that’s worth, stares back. This time, Steve blinks.

 

He drops his head onto his arms and groans.

 

“Do you think he’s,” he says, and stops.

 

Tony looks up from his work, two tables away, and raises the goggles up to the top of his head with a sigh.

 

“What? Do I think he’s aware?”

 

“Never mind,” Steve says hastily, because does he want to know, really? The Bucky he knew would be furious, at being magicked, manhandled, _Steve_ handled, and turned travel-size. The Winter Soldier? Steve bites back a hysterical bolt of laughter. The ghost assassin, miniaturized and furry.

 

Steve stops laughing. People would _die_.

 

“Can’t you try _again_?” Steve asks. It’s not a whine, whatever Tony says later, because Steve is a grown up.

  
Tony rolls his eyes. “And say what? The first wish didn’t work out so well. Maybe it’s for the best. I’m thinking a second wish would backfire just as magnificently.”

 

“It’s still worth a shot.”

 

“Maybe,” Tony says thoughtfully. His fingers fidget over his workspace, turning over nuts, bolts and filaments. “What would you say, though? I am _not_ going to be responsible for whatever happens next.”

 

“I’d—How about, ‘I wish Bucky was human again?’ It’s simple and to the point.” Steve starts to nod to himself, but he stops when Tony grimaces.

 

“Hate to break it to you buddy, but he’s pushing ninety and he has a metal arm.”

 

“So?”

 

“How’d he survive both of those? You’d make a _very_ angry assassin _very_ old, and you’d lose him his advantage in the process.” Tony shakes his head. “Do better.”

 

Steve’s hands clench on the table in front of him. “I’m not good with—”

 

* * *

 

“— Words, Buck,” Steve tells him when they’re nineteen and Bucky’s pushing him to make a comic book. A real one, even, all plot and jokes and superheroes. He’s self-deprecating, then, not like the nauseous roll of dread that threatens to upend his stomach now at the idea of not being able to fix this.

 

Then, Bucky laughs, ruffles his hair before he can dodge that wide palm, and says, “You could work on it you know. Practice makes perfect, hey?”

 

Steve shakes his head. “I think I’ll stick to getting better at something I know I _can_ improve,” he says. “Why don’t _you_ write me something.” Bucky grins.

 

“I’m better at meeting people than writing them.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Of course you are.”

 

* * *

 

“You don’t have to be _good_ with them,” Tony says impatiently, in the lab. “You just have to be specific. Technical.”

 

“Maybe Natasha—”

 

“Oh, do you want to explain all this to her?”

 

“Maybe not Natasha?”

 

Tony snorts out a laugh and pulls his goggles the rest of the way off, dropping them on the tabletop and moving around to the other side of the table to stand next to Steve. He mirrors his posture, crossing his arms and eyeballing the bear, perched on a stool in front of them.

 

“Creepy, isn’t he?” Tony hums. Steve ignores him.

 

“I just,” he says softly, “wish he was back to the way he’s supposed to be.”

 

Tony turns his head slightly to send him half a smile.

 

Someone tuts softly behind them.

 

“So melodramatic, Captain,” Loki says, swanning into view before them. Steve reaches for a shield that isn’t there. Tony only huffs a sigh out through his nose and sends his eyes to the ceiling.

 

“ _He’s_ melodramatic? What were you doing? How long have you been hiding in the shadows down here, waiting to creep your way back out?” He waves his fingers in the air like little ghosts. “ _Melodramatic_. Honestly.”

 

Loki sniffs. “I was not _creeping._ Simply biding my time—”

 

“ _Creeping_.”

 

“Until the lovely Captain was ready to resolve his mistake. Well.” He eyes Tony. “Your mistake. And as he is…”

 

Loki does something complicated with the fingers of his left hand and then it’s like something out of a Disney movie. Gold threads of light dance from his fingertips to the Bucky Bear, twining around its body and constricting unitl the glow is too bright for Steve and Tony to look.

 

“Oh no,” Tony deadpans. Steve gets it— the light feels like nothing on their skin, no burn and no heat, but there’s still something discomfitingly strange about its touch. Steve steels himself against it. His skin crawls.

 

And then the light is gone. Standing in front of them instead is a miserable looking Winter Soldier, plucking bits of fluff from his hair and between his lips. Loki’s gone.

 

“Hi,” Steve says, and then clears his throat—it comes out like a whisper, which isn’t what he meant. Or maybe it was; when the soldier meets his eye, there’s something undeniably _Bucky_ about the exasperation he sees there.

 

“I,” Bucky says slowly, “was a _fucking toy_.”

 

“Well, technically, that’s a completely different category,” Tony chimes in weakly, but he’s edged himself slightly behind Steve, angled towards the door. Bucky notices, and narrows his eyes.

 

“Was this your fault?” he asks, voice low and dangerous. Tony swallows.

 

To his credit, he stands up a little straighter to nod his admission.

 

“Technically, I made the wish that resulted in…” He gestures down Bucky’s body. “But _also_ technically, it was only because this one was mooning over you so hard, he turned into a _complete_ mope. You were more fun confused,” he tells Steve at a stage whisper, and Steve covers his face with his hand. “Anyways, I guess you could say I was just doing my patriotic duty. Pledge allegiance to America and all that.” He sniffs.

 

“Oh my god,” Steve says, but it’s muffled through his fingers. He only looks up in time to spot Bucky’s bemused glance between the two of them.

 

“You’re… you know what, no. You’re _terrible_ at your job. Oh my god.”

 

He puts his head up all the way, flustered and indignant.

 

“I have been down the block for _three_ weeks, literally sitting in wait for you and your flying friend to bust down my door.”

 

“Me?” Tony asks, confused.

 

“Sam,” Steve and Bucky say in unison. Tony’s expression sours.

 

“I was flying first,” he mutters.

 

“Down the block? Really?” There’s a low flutter of hope in Steve’s chest, and he’s doing his best to crush it silent, but then Bucky’s smiling, if reluctantly, and Steve’s heart is buzzing in his ears.

 

“Been waiting, Rogers,” Bucky confirms, and if Steve’s laugh is a little loud, it’s because of how hard the relief’s pushed it out of him. And then Bucky frowns. “Didn’t appreciate the Build-A-Buck treatment, though.”

 

“You were very cute,” Tony says, “if that helps. A little creepy, but cute.”

 

Bucky purses his lips in thought—and then he smiles. Steve knows that smile. He takes a long, careful step away from Tony. That smile is _pure and present_ trouble.

 

“You’ve still got a wish left, huh?”

 

“Sure, it— no,” Tony says, backpedaling sixty miles a minute. “Nope. None left, all gone.”

 

“Rub the staff,” Bucky says with a toothy, wicked grin. “Let’s have some fun.” He flexes his metal arm. It whirrs loudly. Tony swallows.

 

* * *

 

“I wish—look a little less excited, space creep, Jesus, I dare you— I could spend the day…” Tony takes a deep breath. Steve muffles a laugh into his hand. Bucky doesn’t bother trying to hide his smirk. He does keep his arm locked through Steve’s though; Steve isn’t sure he remembers how to stop smiling.

 

On the other side of the lab, Loki’s smile at Tony grows and grows, and Tony looks more and more annoyed. Loki looks a little _coquettish_ , if Steve’s being honest, and isn’t _that…_ disturbing.

 

 _What a waste_ , Tony thinks vehemently, and plows on. “As a stuffed animal—nothing weird, though—and revert back to my usual brilliant self after those 24 hours. And that’s a twenty-four hour _maximum_ , if you or the spell decide I’m good after, say, twelve, I won’t be arguing—”

 

“Stark,” Bucky warns. Tony groans.

 

“Alright,” he sighs. And spreads his arms. “Come at me, tall, dark, and creepy.”

 

Loki lays a hand on him, one long finger at time, and then he’s shrinking. He can’t move to see himself but—huh. He’s warm. Comfortable. Hands are lifting him, moving him, and he feels… He feels… _Adorable_.

 

* * *

 

 

Loki picks up the happy looking penguin and tosses it—him— _Tony_ —into Steve’s arms.

 

“Why a penguin?” Steve asks, barely expecting an answer. Loki shrugs.

 

“I like penguins.”

 

And then he’s gone again. For good, Steve thinks, but he saw the way he was looking at Tony, and _I like penguins_? What was that?

 

“This is going to be fun,” Bucky says gleefully, snatching the penguin from Steve and tossing it up into the air. “Let’s throw him from the roof.”

 

“ _Bucky_.”

 

“What? He can’t feel it! He’s practically indestructible. Except for sharp edges. And children.” Bucky’s eyes darken, and he shudders. “I wouldn’t put him through that.”

 

“It was one child,” Steve protests. “And the kid barely touched you.”

 

“Slimy _and_ sticky! At the same time! How does that _happen_?”

 

“No building and no children,” Steve says, to both penguin-Tony and Bucky.

“Deal,” Bucky sighs, and then perks up. “But the couch! I can throw him off of there?”

 

Steve sighs. Bucky takes that as a yes and bounds towards the stairs. There are worse places to be than under a couch, he figures. Besides, twenty-four hours is a long time.

 

“Push him off and then leave him there,” Steve calls, starting for the landing. “I have other ideas for that couch!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Tony wakes up under a couch, eighteen hours later. It’s dark and a little disorienting, sure, but he’s pretty sure he’s been in stranger situations.

 

He squeezes his way out and spits out a lump of fluff. Everything rushes back at once and it leaves him blinking. He drops down onto the couch in question, and sneezes.

 

“Gesundheit,” someone says from the darkest corner of the living room. Loki turns on the light.

 

Tony yells bloody murder.

**Author's Note:**

> ... Was that a pun in the title? Absolutely that was a pun in the title. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Come visit [over here](http://petulantsteverogers.tumblr.com), if you like!


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